


A Wolf Choking On Nettle-Leaved Bellflowers

by AlphaWolfAl



Series: Al's Memories Of FFXV [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, hanahaki, have fun while i hop back on my bullshit, minor self-harm, not written from Al's POV for once, sill a dirty dirty self-insert though, there's some pre-sex touches, this is about the angst so the bang itself isn't described, well for the second time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaWolfAl/pseuds/AlphaWolfAl
Summary: Nyx Ulric never anticipated that tonight would end with blood and flowers.





	A Wolf Choking On Nettle-Leaved Bellflowers

**Author's Note:**

> There will be three endings coming for this. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

A late night drinking with his friends almost always ends in Nyx half carrying one of them home. He just can't let his idiot friends stumble around the streets too drunk to find the way home.

Tonight it's Al. And Al, as it just so happens, is big. Nyx huffs softly as he props up the blond against the doorframe.

“We here already?” His voice is scratchy, slurred slightly, mumbling almost to himself.

Nyx laughs and shakes his head a bit. “Yea. Almost to your nice warm bed.”

As the older man unlocks the door under the shitty dim hall lighting he hears gagging. So he turns and grabs the younger man in confusion.

Al didn't puke when he drank, he didn't puke and he didn't black out and the stupid boy didn't even get hung o-

A hacking cough cuts off his thoughts and a splash of hot, sticky, wetness soaks into his shirt.

So now, standing there in the ugly green-yellow flickering light of Al's shitty apartment building, Nyx finds himself staring, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, at a slick mess of purple petals and deep crimson blood.

When he finally tears his eyes away from his own shirt and looks at the younger man he wishes he hadn't.

Al looks lost, crystal blue eyes wide and shining and so unfocused from alcohol. Blood drenches his blond beard and pastes purple flowers to the thick hairs. It fucking breaks Nyx's heart.

He jams the key in the lock and shoves open the apartment door. Then he hefts the blond forward, half dragging him over the threshold before kicking the door shut and just walking forward.

His free hand smacks the light switch and Al startles at the loud sound and cringes from the sudden brightness of the living room lights.

The apartment is small and he doesn't have to carry Al much further. Just down a short hall into a pitch black bedroom where he smacks the light switch again before dumping the blond man onto the bed.

It's easy work to yank Al's boots off, and the younger Glaive even manages his shirt on his own baring the pale surgical scars on his chest marking where he'd paid to be himself. Yanking at his belt earns Nyx another stain of red, sticking flower petals to his shirt, but other than that he manages to get the other man stripped to his underwear without further trouble.

A wet cloth takes care of the worst of the blood in Al's beard and the other man drops off to sleep with a swiftness the blond only achieves through drunkenness.

Nyx tucks the blanket around him, puts a bottle of water next to his bed, and then takes the stained cloth and shuts off the light taking himself to the living room to throw himself down on the couch.

“Shit...” He speaks gruffly to the ugly brown carpeting. “How the fuck did I miss that...” He knows this much blood means this has been going on a long time, months, even a year, maybe more, Al was hardy and this was a lot of blood.

Looking back he can see where he should have had half a fucking brain. Where he should have seen that something was wrong.

He throws himself to his feet, storms over to the kitchen sink, whips his shirt off, smearing blood and purple flowers in his hair and on one cheek, and runs the water.

There's so much blood. He hasn't seen Al look at him like that since he was a kid. Seeing him standing there, swaying on his feet with those blue eyes so wide and blood at his mouth Nyx had immediately felt a sharp pang in his chest, the same pang he'd felt when he'd found the kid beat down on the streets.

He had to do something.

Once he's rinsed the blood and flowers from his shirt he flings it over the back of a kitchen chair before storming to the bathroom where he cranks on the hot water and strips down.

Halfway done with taking his braids out he's suddenly so tired. Even dragging himself into the shower seems like an insurmountable task.

Under the hot water he forces himself to scrub his hair and face trying to obliterate the memory of the blood as much as the stain.

The spray of the shower burns and for several long minutes he just lets it, wants it to burn, wants to hurt because he's been too fucking stupid to see someone so close to him spiraling.

Thinking back he sees it. He sees Al start drinking more, start being more reckless with his casual sex, start picking meaningless fights. More and more and more. Of course Nyx has wondered why. But asking felt too personal. If his friends want their secrets Nyx lets them have their secrets.

By the time he's run through the hot water his skin is an angry red and stings to the touch all down his back. And gods it feels so fucking deserved.

Nyx drags his pants back on and turns off the living room lights before throwing himself haphazardly onto the couch.

It's hours before he falls into a fitful sleep, and even that comes and goes in stints of an hour here, twenty minutes there, with stretches of abysmal self-depreciation in between.

The sun rises and so does the younger man.

Al walks almost silently even in his own apartment, but Nyx has been awake again for the last two hours just staring at the ceiling and spiraling into tearing himself apart for not noticing, and for not feeling the same.

Nyx sits up, looks over the back of the couch at the blond, takes in his tall body, the softness in his belly, his tousled blond waves of hair, and the broad span of shoulders that tense when crystal blue eyes focus on the older man.

“Nyx...” His voice is low, husky with sleep. “You're still here.”

The brunette stands up, lean and shirtless. “Yep. Still here.” His own voice sounds terrible, he imagines he doesn't look much better, his back still stings when he moves. Good.

“Shit I really over did it last... Oh gods...” His eyes widen for a moment before he turns his head and quickly hacks up a pile of blood and flowers.

“Damnit Al. How long?”

Once the blond clears his mouth of blood and flower petals he rasps a response.

“A year. Maybe more. Can't remember anymore.” Al didn't look at him.

“Why didn't you tell me? Have you at least seen a fucking doctor?”

“Yea I saw five doctors. Every level of cost. And all of them told me the only answer is getting it removed.”

“Or getting me to fall in love with you...” Nyx's voice is soft, sad.

Al lets out a sharp laugh. “Nobody seemed to think that was all that likely.”

The older man feels anger lance through him at that. He growls low in his throat. “Why in hell not?”

The blond shakes his head slowly, laughs bitterly. Then the laugh becomes a cough. The cough becomes another spatter of petals and blood.

He scrubs the blood from his lips before speaking.

“If you're trying to say you love me I know you're lying.”

Nyx hangs his head, taking a slow breath.

“No I... Gods Al I just... Why didn't you tell me? Why won't you just... let them take it out?”

He doesn't like that option either, and knowing his friend he can guess the answer.

“This whole chat right here... That's why I never said anything. Guess I figured I'd die in battle or in some backalley fight before it ever got this bad. Or maybe I hoped I would...”

Nyx doesn't like that any better.

“You're better than that.”

Al shakes his head.

“Nyx...”

Suddenly he was coughing again, spitting petals, swearing into the back of his hand.

“I don't want it out... I don't want to stop feeling... Especially not... This. For you.”

He has no idea what to say. So he just does something crazy.

It's two fast strides before he grabs at Al's upper arms and crushes a rough kiss to his lips.

Al kisses back desperately and the sharp coppery taste of his blood fills Nyx's mouth as he spears his tongue between full, if slightly chapped, lips.

He knows how Al fucks. They talk about it over drinks with friends, swapping stories to pass the time. He knows the blond will take charge.

He hopes he will.

Al's breath comes hard and fast already, the shortness of breath a symptom of the disease. But the larger man quickly grabs at Nyx and with a deep growl he whirls them around slamming the older man against a wall.

Nyx gasps, skin of his back protesting sharply. But a blush rises high on his cheeks, and he tips his head back to bare his neck for the other man.

“Al... Please... Let me try.”

In a flash he sinks his teeth into the offered flesh and the older man lets out a keening cry as the pain ignites heat in him.

It's a whirlwind of a fuck, and so many times Al turns his head to spit flowers and blood, but he doesn't stop. It's like they both pray this will change things.

In the end, as Al finally spends himself his grunt of release becomes a shuddering cough that he doesn't turn fast enough for and blood and purple flowers and, gods, even a nettle-leaved stem, mix with Nyx's own seed on his torso.

In a rush the younger man throws himself back, pulling out and continuing to cough into his hand.

The brunette cries out and his eyes well up with tears.

It hasn't helped.

He hasn't made anything better.

But he'll be damned if he's not going to keep trying.

He can't lose Al. Not if all he has to do is love him.


End file.
